Last Words
by marajk
Summary: A recount of Alaska's last night and that fateful drive told from her POV. One-Shot.


**A/N: Because John Green is an unparalleled writer, I know there is no way that I was able to capture the character and essence of Alaska entirely. But still, I had to try. Reviews and comments are always welcome, and thank you for taking the time to read this.  
**

* * *

I never quite understood why people called anything past midnight "nighttime." To most, the darkness that settled in marked the beginning to the end of another long day, where they could rest their heads and close their eyes and sleep all of their troubles away. But to me, the moment the clock switched from PM to AM was the beginning of the earliest of mornings; where endless possibilities of mischief and mayhem sat locked away, just waiting for someone to find them. It was the planning period of the many pranks yet to have been pulled off. It was in those dark hours that hot lips and sweltering bodies, naked and passionate, would collide in the most beautiful ways imaginable. But it was also in those hours that the darkest remembrances would lurk out of the shadows and plague me, even while I was still awake. That's why sleep was out of the question entirely. The darkness took advantage of the helpless, tormented girl and somehow found a way to haunt her even after she had found a way to make herself numb.

I reached for the bottle of vodka I had stashed behind my piles of well-worn books and unscrewed the cap. I watched as the clear liquid drained from the glass bottle into my mug of stale coffee as I pulled a cigarette from the pages of a hollowed out book. I brought it to my lips as I fumbled to light it, sucking in a long drag, as the glowing tip softly hissed. I blew out steady rings of smoke, uncaring even to the fact that the Eagle may come knocking any second at my door. I realized I was still clenching the handle of the mug of vodka-infused coffee and I raised it slightly.

"To Alaska Young," I said through clenched teeth, my voice hollow and empty. "The crazy, sullen bitch."

I threw my head back and slammed the mug against lips, certain I had knocked out my two front teeth in the process. But soon, it didn't matter because I had already drained the stale coffee with the vodka and had already grabbed what was left of the open bottle. The world was growing blissfully numb and I felt invincible.

* * *

Next thing I knew, the Colonel and Pudge were in my room with me and the Colonel and I were drinking together and talking and Pudge, damn Pudge, was just sitting there looking at my books and smiling. And suddenly, I wanted him. Not the loving kind of want, either, but the passionate, dangerous, entirely selfish want. I wanted to trace the blurry lines of his body and I wanted his hands running wild over mine. I wanted romance and mischief and passion and desire.

"Pudge isn't even listening to us" I giggled in a voice much too high-pitched to be my own as I poured myself more wine from the Colonel's gifted bottle. I watched him with eyes like a, granted, very drunk, hawk just waiting to swoop in and devour my prey.

He turned to look at me, small dimples appearing on his cheeks as he said: "I'm listening."

"We were just talking about Truth or Dare. Played out in seventh grade or still cool?" I did my best to sound nonchalant, certain that both he and the Colonel could hear the dull roar of my heart pounding in my chest.

He just shrugged. "Never played it. No friends in seventh grade."

"Well that does it!" I screamed, laughing at the sheer horror that Pudge had never played such a game as wonderful as this one, especially one that I excelled at. "Truth or Dare!"

"All right. But I'm not making out with the Colonel" he said, a stern look crossing his face as he shot a skeptical glance at his best friend.

The Colonel just slumped further down, a crumpled Dixie cup in his hand and a dazed look in his eye. "Can't make out. Too drunk."

I just laughed at that and turned my attention back to Pudge. "Truth or Dare, Pudge."

He paused, as if this simple question demanded a long, thought-out answer, before finally settling on his choice. "Dare" he said as he looked me in the eye, as if challenging and questioning me at the same time.

My lips formed the smirk that had become my trademark as I found myself spitting out the words "hook up with me."

So he did.

* * *

Our bodies tangled together as our lips met each other's, like waves crashing upon a tropical shore. I felt his breath, hot and labored, against my cheeks and his hands exploring my body. I gently rocked my hips back and forth in sync with his feeling the beat of his heart echoing next to mine. He tasted like cigarettes and corn chips and Pudge. He tried to talk, but because I am selfish, I had just pressed a finger against his lips, not letting anything he might have said take this moment away from me. And just like that, it was over.

"This is so fun," I had said, as I rested my head on Pudge's skinny chest, "but I'm so sleepy. To be continued?"

And like that, I was out. Knocked out from the alcohol and my love affair, both poisons of an entirely different variety.

* * *

I awoke, head pounding and body drenched in sweat not all belonging to myself, but in a blissful stupor nonetheless. I looked at Pudge, quiet, caring, last-word obsessed Pudge, and heaved myself off of his damp chest. I glanced at the white tulips in the vase on my shelf and thought that I should probably call Jake and wish him a happy anniversary before I became too intoxicated to even say his name correctly.

"Happy anniversary babe" I whispered into the receiver when he picked up. I absentmindedly doodled on some page, hearing but not really listening to the words he was saying to me. But that's when I see it and it's enough to break through the alcohol-induced coma that I was swimming in. It's amazing how large an effect the small sketch of a flower can have on a person.

"Oh god. Shit, shit shit!" And now I was sobbing. And not the controlled sobs that you see in movies, but the loud, uncontrollable sobs that, as much as you don't want them to, are ripped from your chest and pull you out with them. I told Jake that I'd talk to him later and raced back to my room. There was a thundering crash as I ripped the door open, certainly waking up the Colonel and Pudge.

"I have to get out of here!" I cried, my eyes darting back and forth finally settling on the white tulips Jake had given me. I was aware of Pudge saying something, but I don't hear him. I don't care.

"I forgot! God, how many times can I fuck up? I JUST HAVE TO GO. HELP ME GET OUT OF HERE! Just please distract the Eagle right now so I can go. Please." I screamed, grabbing the flowers right out of the vase. I threw myself to the ground and let my head slump between my knees as more guilt-ridden sobs were torn from my body.

The Colonel was giving me instructions about how I wasn't to turn my lights on as I was driving away, but my mind was in another place.

"God, oh God, I'm so sorry!" I sobbed, and suddenly, I was the eight-year-old little girl again, watching her mom convulse and tremor and died right before her eyes. Standing still, doing nothing. Dysfunctional, stupid, useless.

I had been driving fast. Too fast, even for someone who was sober, which I wasn't, but I couldn't fuck up again. I couldn't further disappoint the mother who I had essentially killed. I was no longer numb to the pain even though my body still was and I felt it. I felt it all. Pain, anger, sadness, anguish, remorse, and above all: guilt. My dad was right to blame me. It was my fault, all my fault. I just wanted to get to my mom before I had a chance to fuck anything else up. Tears streamed down my cheeks, the road becoming even blurrier than it had been only seconds before. Just another wall in my labyrinth. This was suffering. I saw the blaring blue and red lights of the cop car ahead, and I knew that in this moment, this was the answer. This was the way out of my labyrinth.

"Straight and fast," I whispered as my foot pressed the gas pedal to the floor. My last words.

I thought maybe, just maybe, Pudge would have been proud.


End file.
